Page 6 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

James makes a strangled sound.

I lean back. “Oh! Shit, I’m so sorry. Duh,” I rip the duct tape covering his mouth. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

James wails, his face moving side to side in agitation. Probably from the pain of having tape ripped off his face or something; I can never be sure. Men are so sensitive.

“You fucking bitch!” He snarls, trying to wiggle off the chair.

Which is kind of dumb because I tied his hands together behind the chair, and his feet are tied to the legs of the chair. So yeah, if he keeps throwing a fit and wiggling like that, he’ll just fall to the ground with the chair on top of him.

I roll my eyes as I hop off him. “Excuse me. That’s rude. How am I the bitch when I’ve given you plenty of times to give me what I need?”

“I need more time!”

“Sorry, mister. Mr. Rogers gave me strict instructions. You owe him money, dude. Since a year ago. Seriously, why borrow money if you’re not going to pay him back? Stuuupid.”

James snarls, “You’re a crazy ass bitch!”

“If I were a man, you'd call me tough,” I frown and pull out my phone to check the time. “So, remember that wine we had at the restaurant? I added an extra flavor for you.”

James pales as he stops struggling. He stares at me with wide eyes.

I stare back before the realization hits me. “Oh! Ew, no. I didn’t spit in your wine. What the hell? I’m not that much of a savage. No, no. I added something that’ll make your heart slowly stop beating. It looks like you have minutes left, maybe an hour if we’re being generous.”

James starts yelling again, calling me colorful names and such.

“This date sucks,” I scoff. “But since you’re kinda cute, I will give you another chance.”

James pauses, waiting.

I rummage through my handbag and pull out a tiny bottle. “Give me the money, and I’ll give you this. It counteracts the poison, and you’ll be as good as new.”

James stares at the bottle for half a second before nodding furiously, “Okay! Okay!”

“Wait, seriously? That didn’t take long. What the hell, dude? You could have saved us all this time and just give me —”

“Take the money from my bank account, you bitch!” James rudely interrupts me.

“I’m starting to think you believe that’s my real name,” I grab his phone from his pocket and follow his hurried instructions.

“Hurry, I don’t feel good,” James complains.

I glance at him, noticing he’s getting paler and weaker by the minute. I sigh, watching the loading symbol on the screen.

“Sorry, the service here isn’t that great,” I mutter, lifting his phone up and down until I get another bar. “We wanna make sure it actually shows up in Mr. Rogers’s account, right?”

Frowning, I pull out my phone. “Oh, I guess it’s just your phone because I’m good. Oh, hold on, Nat just texted me.” I open a text message from my best friend, Natalie.

NAT:

-Send me a picture of what you’re wearing.

ME:

-I can’t, I’m still working.

NAT:

-Seriously?? Booooo!

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